


I Know we Suffer for Fashion or Whatever (an introduction to the graphical user interface)

by thought



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6917071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Root, perception is performance is tool.<br/>Or: Shaw has a moment and Root has an entire pot of coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know we Suffer for Fashion or Whatever (an introduction to the graphical user interface)

   Root shows up ten minutes later than she’d predicted in her text, throwing herself dramatically down in the booth across from Shaw and making pitiful grabby hands at the coffeepot in the middle of the table until Shaw slides it closer to her.

   "I take it back,“ she says, darkly. "Any affection She or Harry have tricked me into expressing for people was misguided and uninformed.”

   "Hi, Root,“ Shaw says flatly. "Please, tell me all about your feelings, and maybe how you have no respect for our entire species which by default includes me. And while you’re at it, drink my coffee. This is exactly why I texted you, you’re right.”

   "I’ll pay for the coffee, sweetie,“ Root says condescendingly. Considering she’s already on her second cup, Shaw would have made her pay even if she hadn’t offered.

"Were you working a number?”

   "Mmhm,“ Root nods. There’s something slightly off about her face, but in the shitty florescent lighting and shadow cast by the back of the booth and the wall Shaw can’t pin down what it is. "I had to go *clubbing*, Sameen.”

   Shaw makes a face. “What did you do to piss Her off?”

   "She isn’t petty like that,“ Root says, which is a damn lie, Shaw has an organized list of times the fucking robot has played favourites or done things just to make Shaw’s life miserable.

   "I’m trying to imagine what it thought appropriate clubbing clothes for a thirty-seven-year-old would be,” Shaw says, trying not to smirk. She knows Root’s night has probably been fucking unbearable for her– trapped in a noisy overheated room with drunk assholes smelling like perfume and sweat packed in all around her, yeah, her senses are probably rubbed raw and Shaw’s sure it was only whatever mission The Machine had her running that had kept her sober through the whole thing. Sometimes Shaw forgets that Root runs relevant numbers. She’s got to stay on the top of her game. Shaw remembers what it’s like.

   Root waves a hand at herself. “You’re looking at them.”  
   Shaw’s eyebrows shoot up. Root’s wearing a plain black button down over a dark purple tee-shirt and skin-tight jeans leading down to grey high-tops. It’s all topped off by a bulky leather jacket. Even her hair is pulled back in a messy braid down her back. She’s definitely not wearing makeup, and her black nail polish is chipped in a few spots.

   "And that’s why you shouldn’t let it choose your outfits,“ Shaw says.

   Root shrugs. "It worked just fine. I had to dress to blend in, and because queer bar culture in New York can be shitty, that meant I couldn’t be a woman. The look isn’t as fun, I’ll give you that, but on the plus side my feet don’t hurt at all.”

   It takes Shaw a second to get it. “Wait, you dressed up like a guy?” Now that she’s looking for it, she realizes Root’s chest seems even flatter than normal, and her hair is messy in the way that suggests it’s recently been smushed under a hat or a wig.

   "Like I said, less fun, but also easier."

   "That’s why your face looks weird,” Shaw observes. “How many makeup contouring tutorials did you and your robot girlfriend watch on YouTube?”

   Root shakes her head, amused. “Only one, thank you, and it was months ago and only because I wanted to see if I was missing any tricks.”

   When Shaw studies Root’s delicate wrists and collarbones she automatically thinks woman, but she supposes in passing if she’d never met Root the assumption wouldn’t come quite as easily. Besides, she figures even in bars primarily targeted towards dudes nobody’s going to openly insist that it be limited to cis guys, so Root’s disguise still holds up. Shaw’s never really been in to any kind of queer scene– she’s always been too busy or too military or too bisexual or too Iranian to feel comfortable in the mainstream sort of places, which is all she really has time to find. That being said, gender and sexuality terminology has been popping up in the kink scene for a few years, and it feels like every time she sees Jen the teen and her friends are trying on different words and descriptors, searching for ways to articulate things Shaw was never self-aware enough at fourteen to be thinking about.

   "You dress up like a guy a lot?“ Shaw asks, finding she’s honestly curious.

   Root shrugs. "Not so often. Most of the work She has me doing goes better if I dress up as a woman.”

   Shaw notices the phrasing and wants to acknowledge it somehow, isn’t sure if this is a moment of vulnerability for Root or something she thinks should be obvious. She wants to pursue the topic, make it concrete with words and facts. There’s a question caught just behind her teeth, but she can’t pinpoint exactly what it is even in her own head. Root stirs sugar into her third cup of coffee. Shaw is waiting for the day she starts drinking out of the coffeepot in public.


End file.
